Hundred Days to Hell
by Empty Backpack
Summary: A chronicle of the downfall of wizarding society, leading from the second uprising of Lord Voldemort to the community's final days. AU, violence, death, slash, SS/HP. Currently: A Daily Prophet reporter sent to research the Death Eaters has gone missing.
1. Prologue

TITLE: Hundred Days to Hell  
  
AUTHOR: Empty Backpack  
  
SUMMARY: A chronicle of the downfall of wizarding society, leading from the second uprising of Lord Voldemort to the community's final days.  
  
WARNINGS: PG for mild, non-explicit violence. Violence may become explicit, at which point the rating will be changed to PG-13. This hundred-section monstrosity is also, by Day 78, the lead-in to a rather sad AU slash piece, of HP/SS. But you don't need to read that ever, and I recommend that you probably shouldn't. As was said, this will be a hundred and two sections, for a prologue, 100 days, and an epilogue. It will not, however, be 102 chapters. Hopefully. To quote a college teacher who beta-ed this, "God willin' and th' crick don't rise."  
  
NOTES: This has been in the works and planned out on paper since January of 2001. This was before September 11th, before the shrub's "War on Iraq", and is not intended to copy, parody, or otherwise represent anything that's been in the news in the last three years. The only thing "ripped from the headlines" is the imagery for a later scene, in which a bus windshield covered in blood is described. This is a real photograph from the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. I thought that the photograph made an excruciating point.  
  
The characterization in this prologue and first chapter is extremely poorly done, and I apologize for the relative uniformity of the characters. This changes in later chapters as I become a more experienced writer, and after I have Day 3 posted, I will drastically rewrite this first section. Now, however, I need to have it up before the 20th, otherwise none of it will have any relevance with the availability of Book 5. This story is a long- term commitment, and I have all days planned out in detail. I spent a week doing this. I will not suddenly drop the plotline, never to be seen again. 1633 words, and Ereck is pronounced air-EEK.  
  
Good luck in reading this, and have fun. I sure didn't. If I seriously botched something, please yell at me at kariannye@aol.com.  
  
***  
  
PROLOGUE March 13, 1995  
  
"Give a man fire, and he's warm for a day. Light him on fire, and he's warm for the rest of his life." -Terry Pratchett  
  
***  
  
"I WANT RITA SKEETER AND I WANT HER NOW!" shouted the Head of the Columnists Department at the Daily Prophet, a wizarding newspaper. Whoever was taking so long to fetch the blasted woman would pay for this dearly. Quite dearly, in fact, with their job, reputation, and finances. The speaker made a mental note to fire his secretary, as well. She made poor quality coffee. At that, why not fire everyone? With the courier employees already on strike, it wouldn't make much difference.  
  
He was shut up by someone fast-stepping by and saying, "Ah, shut your fat mouth, Robert Sorenson! The lad says she's not available, and she's not available!" Johanna Moonen gestured vaguely in the direction of poor Cameron Wrident, who had been the one being chewed by Mr. Sorenson. He gave her a thankful look, and she walked on. Sorenson angrily stalked off, annoyed at his authority being undermined, but unable to cause any fuss about it. Cameron again looked over the stack of papers Nancy Wiggins, and editor, had returned to him, and got up to take the article to be printed. On his way, he stopped at the communal coffee pot and greeted Michael Claypool of the Global News Department, who was on his way to ask Lisanne Holstein to read over some article about new cauldron manufacturing regulations. He offered to deliver Cameron's article, as the Printing Department was situated right near his destination. While they were talking, Carmina Hoyle of Muggle News also stopped by for her morning tea fix. The three chatted idly for several minutes, about their bosses, a new shipment of Quick-Quotes Quills, and the upstart Chantelle Nemitz in Lifestyle, whose parents had most likely been dead-set on embarrassing her when choosing that name. Michael took Cameron's article, and delivered it on his way to see Lisanne.  
  
"Top of the morning to you, Lissy! And what's new in the world today?" Lisanne rolled her eyes, and looked pointedly at the pile of papers on her desk.  
  
"Too much is new. Now, unless you have a damned good reason to be here, or you have something more for me to edit, shoo!" She grabbed the article from his hands, and turned to her next customer. Noticing that Michael was still standing there, she said, "Go on, get out of here! I'm sure you've got better things to do than pester an already harried editor!" Michael backed away, and Lisanne edgily returned to her business with Ms. Moody.  
  
Reyna said conversationally, "You know, not everyone here is out to get you, Holstein."  
  
"Oh yes, they are! Look at that Nemitz woman over in Lifestyle. With a name like that, you know what the bosses think she's good for! And that Deanna Mucklestone, from Government. She just piles it on, gives everything to me to edit, rather than distributing it evenly like everyone else does. They're all out to cause me to have a mental breakdown!"  
  
"Actually. I do believe that Claypool kid likes you, Holstein. You should treat him better."  
  
Lisanne snorted, almost spitting out her response. "A load of rubbish, that is. Just what Nancy told me the other day. If he thinks I'm so nice, he can go-"  
  
"Lisanne! There is no call for that. Everyone is not, in fact, out to disturb you." The magically operated public announcement system beeped. "See, I'm sure now that they're paging you to say you've won a lottery, or something."  
  
The emotionless, nasal voice over the PA announced, "There has been a Death Eater attack near Ottery St. Catchpole. This is a code yellow. All employees designated to respond to this code, please report to the main conference hall. " There was a pause. "Also, former members of the DEA must report to the same room. Thank you." The microphone clicked off, and the noise echoed clearly in the stunned silence that had gathered.  
  
The sound of silence was intruded upon as someone dropped a stapler in shock. Reactions began to kick in, leading several people to scream, and a few to faint. Someone in the next department over shouted, "My sister lives there!" and ran to the lobby.  
  
Code yellow was one of the call codes for teams of reserve employees that could be called upon to report or handle situations that came up suddenly and needed immediate attention. The designated employees for each code had a small symbol with that color on their identification tags, nameplates, and notepads. Usually, these employees had been with the newspaper for at least two years.  
  
Lisanne held her wide-eyed expression for a few more moments, closed her eyes, and hit her head on the table repeatedly. After her fit, she rolled her eyes and gave Reyna a cross look. "Sure, now look what we're all mired in."  
  
Reyna paused, glanced around at the many people getting up to respond to the code, and said, "Well, maybe they aren't out to get you, specifically."  
  
***  
  
"Amazing. Just amazing," Carmina Hoyle commented scathingly as she and Deanna Mucklestone filed into the main auditorium with the rest of the stunned and outraged personnel. "We all have the luck of an intoxicated pigeon in the middle of the Muggle M-40."  
  
Multitudes of other people designated to code yellow were streaming in by way of the two other double doorways leading into the Kubinski Auditorium. It had been named after some madly eccentric woman who had long been lost in the annals of Daily Prophet history. The architecture seemed to reflect her purported personality; flourishes of molding lined the walls in nautilus patterns and the seating was arranged in a most confusing fashion. She'd thrown herself out of a window at age forty-two.  
  
As everyone seated themselves, one of the assistant heads of department walked up to the half-cylindrical podium. He spoke the Sonorus charm, and cleared his throat. The audience quieted.  
  
"You have been gathered here today because a great tragedy has occurred, and as a reputable national newspaper, we are duty-bound to investigate and report upon it to the best of our ability. The department traditionally used for this, the Dark Events Alert department, was disbanded in 1982 after the fall of You-Know-Who. We have brought you here today to recreate that department, quickly, using the employees we already have. All employees who previously held a job in the DEA department shall take up their old positions. New employees will be added as they are hired. Also, some of the staff designated to respond to a code yellow shall be pulled from their positions to work in this department. These employees were chosen by chance; there is no favoritism or dislike involved. It does not matter what position you currently hold. This list was created entirely by random selection."  
  
At that point in his speech, and unnamed person in the audience loudly interrupted, "And a one in a million chance happens nine times out of ten!"  
  
The assistant head of department glared at the speaker, unrolled a scroll he had been clutching tightly, and continued. "For all of your basic knowledge, the attack took place on the Knight Bus, and several people were killed. I know that many of you are worried about your friends and family, but I request that you not leave. Your must first take care of your job." He cleared his throat again. "I shall be the new head of department for the DEA. I will now use a rather simple spell to notify the selection of employees to be reassigned." He cast a spell that Deanna recognized, which took names off a list or from a book or other papers, and marked the owners of those names with bright magic flares. Sure enough, purple flames appeared above several dozen people, in a fashion that appeared to have no pattern or organization at all. She herself looked up, but there was thankfully no such flame above her head. There was, however, a flare of violet above the head of her companion, Carmina. She prodded Carmina in the arm, and pointed upward. Carmina Hoyle looked up, and sighed. Everyone had heard on some occasion the horror stories about casualties in the DEA when it existed. The direction of her adult life would be very different from this point forward; she was now a journalist taking risks, going out into the field and possibly being maimed, tortured, or killed. Deanna smiled sadly at her, and wished her luck.  
  
"All former DEA employees, and all employees who have been reassigned to the DEA, please come to the front of the room. These people, including Hoyle and many others, slowly streamed to the front and were directed through a door off the side of the auditorium. After the last person had filed through, with the new Head of the DEA following after a short declaration of "Dismissed", the door was closed with a soft click. The people who had been spared from selection slowly got up, left the auditorium, and went back to their relatively normal lives.  
  
***  
  
"For those of you who were formerly in the DEA department, we shall be reopening that area of offices from storage. You shall all be pulled from your current positions and relocated permanently." Franz DeBus, (formerly) of the Government department, took a deep breath and sighed, garnering him a displeased look from Ereck Chimfrent. "Not all of you will have assignments yet, but for those of you who do, please come retrieve them as your name is called."  
  
"Carmina Hoyle." She stood up, being directly in from of the speaker, and fingered the packet with trepidation. "Michael Claypool. Reyna Moody. Lisanne Holstein. Chantelle Nemitz. Johanna Moonen. Cameron Wrident." Some people querulously snatched their folders, others were repulsed by the notion. "The rest of you will start tomorrow."  
  
***  
  
Chapter 2, encompassing Day 1 (I think) shall be posted later today or early tomorrow, God willin' and th' crick don't rise. I've already gotten a good portion of this thing written on scraps of paper, and need only to type it up and polish it. Except for the bit with Adalberto, the schizophrenic who talks to his appliances, and his bowl of chili. I don't know how that got into this binder. 


	2. Day 1: Witness

NOTES FROM THE REAL WORLD: DAMMIT. I shall proceed to jump up and down, waving various limbs in protest. Apologies to anyone who feels otherwise, but I loathed the fifth book. It was fantastic, and covered moral issues, and developed the characters well, but I despised it. Have no clue why. It was equivalent to. a well-written, well-done, poor quality fanfic. Except for the bits with Snape. But even those were left unresolved, to my great frustration. I shall, for all intents and purposes, completely ignore the fifth book in this piece. Rowling's display of the Daily Prophet and certain other groups greatly clashes with how I envisioned them prior.  
  
In far more positive news, YES! Some fantastic legislation was put through in the last few weeks in the Americas. Canada legalized homosexual marriage, I found out that my state's anti-sodomy law was repealed a year ago, my state's governor issued an executive order that there would be no tolerance for discrimination based on sexual orientation (bypassing the legislature!), and the Supreme Court ruled anti-sodomy laws illegal. Unfortunately, the Defense of Marriage Act still exists unchanged.  
  
REGARDING THE STORY: I shall post a new chapter every Thursday, barring hospitalization, death, or some other minor hindrance. It would have been every Wednesday, but I have classes that I blatantly disregarded in my planning. This particular chapter is not well-written, and the first photography section borders on cheesy when making its point, but. let us go for the standard excuse, and say that I wasn't in my right mind when it was written.  
  
***  
  
DAY 1: Witness March 13, 1995  
  
"For the living and the dead, we must bear witness." -Holocaust Museum, Washington, D.C.  
  
***  
  
Carmina Hoyle stumbled out of the Apparition area. The sweat dripping off the palms of her hands had soaked through several pages of her notepad, giving the paper a cloth-like consistency and causing the ink to bleed. She was gasping for breath as she cantered waveringly forward, pushing past people with tears streaming down her face. Upon reaching her cubicle on the fourth floor, Carmina dumped everything she had with her into a pile and staggered to Ereck Chimfrent's enclosed office.  
  
Chimfrent looked up, startled, as Carmina wrenched open the door, clearly distraught. "I'm quitting, right now," she said forcefully, mouth contorted in a grimace. "I can't do this, this isn't my job." There was a sharp intake of breath, and a look of regret flashed across her pained countenance. "Things like this aren't supposed to happen. People shouldn't die that way. Everyone is supposed to grow old and pass away peacefully in sleep. Exploding is not a way people are supposed to die. You're supposed to die with your corpse intact, so that your relatives can have a nice, decent funeral and comment on how much they'll miss you. There shouldn't be Aurors collecting chopped-up bits of your pancreas off of bus seats, skin from a windshield. Dammit, I'm not supposed to have to see that. It isn't supposed to happen!" She pulled agitatedly at a finger, stomping about in front of Chimfrent's desk. She smashed the bottom of her fist against the far wall, denting it. Seeming to suddenly deflate, she started nervously dragging her fingernails along the skin of her left arm, as though trying desperately to peel it off. As Carmina slid to the floor, sobbing, Chimfrent hurriedly put a page out to Charles Hamanzuer, who he had previously worked under. This distress call sent, he anxiously hurried over to Hoyle. Ereck was at a loss for what to do. He first tried to pull her right hand away from her, but failing this, he knelt down and patted her tentatively on the back. As this prompted a fresh wave of sobbing, he stopped and ran back to his desk.  
  
He was rifling through drawers for a handkerchief when Hamanzuer pushed open the door to the small office. Hamanzuer spotted Hoyle immediately, and a look of pain flashed across his face. "I'll take care of this, Ereck. Poor girl. I probably should have had you send out someone with experience." Hamanzuer ushered Ereck out of the office and closed the door. As Chimfrent stood nervously waiting, several of the employees gave him questioning looks. He shrugged in response and shook his head negatively.  
  
Hamanzuer left the office several minutes later, leading a blankly staring Carmina Hoyle, comatose in appearance. Chimfrent looked at her, alarmed. "What did you do to her?"  
  
"Sedated her. Tha's all you can do for 'em, when they get like this. I'm off to St. Mungo's with her now." Hamanzuer didn't stop, only continued to the atrium and the lift bay, apparently headed for the floo network connections.  
  
***  
  
Johanna Moonen walked slowly forward to the atrium to Disapparate, unwittingly following the same path her unfortunate predecessor on this journey had taken. She carefully readjusted her camera bag on her shoulder, coming to a stop to wait in line at the designated Disapparation point. She waited nervously, her hand twitching.  
  
Johanna had been assigned to incidents like this before. They were, of course, never pleasant. If the sight of blood didn't put you off the "excitement" of getting an assignment, then the sheer destruction generally seen wiped that anticipation from the mind.  
  
She sighed. Her place in line was up, and she stepped forward onto the marked square. Disapparating with little trouble, she immediately took a step back when she reached her destination. The stench was still horrible; of blood and metal and burnt skin.  
  
It had been a long time, 15 blessed years, since she had covered this subject. And as she stepped toward the site, the reality was worse than imagination could conceive. This was the Knight Bus, something she'd ridden herself countless times. These had been real people, someone's cherished brother or son or mother. And their deaths had been merciless, deliberately painful and gruesome.  
  
The front windshield of the bus was liberally splattered with dark red blood. It had dripped after spattering wildly. Human blood.  
  
Johanna quietly set up her tripod camera, determined to capture the true, cold reality of these scenes. War was not glorious. War was never right, no matter how good and pure the cause. People did not simply die in battles or acts of senseless terrorism. They were killed, their lives taken forcibly and irrevocably from them only to prove a point.  
  
The victims of this particular event appeared to have some sort of curse placed on them that caused their organs to explode outward in an attempt to equalize the pressure, as though suddenly filled with air.  
  
The state of the inside of the bus was far worse. Johanna knew that few of these photographs would ever make it to press, and most would not even be stored in the archives, but she took them anyway. The more photographs she made, the more the paper would have to keep stored somewhere. That was her only aim: to create a visual record of what had happened. That was always the photographer's aim.  
  
***  
  
Ereck Chimfrent quickly shut the door to the photography lab, hoping to let in as little light as possible. All the light in the room was tinted red, and everything was in shades of red as a result. Ereck let his eyes adjust for several seconds, then looked around the workspace for Moonen.  
  
She had spotted him first. "Look at some of these, and tell me which ones you think they'll use. I need to get those to Hoyle so she can write her article." Without looking up from the chemical trays she was working with, she gestured to a clothesline covered in partially developed photographs.  
  
".Hoyle isn't writing the article anymore. Joshua Meiss has taken it over from the notes she took."  
  
"Fine," Moonen responded nonchalantly. "Just have a look and tell me which ones I shouldn't bother submitting." She pinned another photograph to the clothesline, still refusing to look at Ereck.  
  
He walked along the cord, grimacing at some of the more gruesome pictures. "You left these still frame? Here, this one is too graphic. They won't use it." She nodded and placed an extra pin next to the photograph he'd indicated. He pointed out several others that were too detailed or explicit for the sensibility of the layout editors, and she placed pins next to those, too. "Are you taking the ones they won't use?"  
  
"Of course. What else would I do with them? Somebody will want to see them, someday. They need to be kept. There must always be a record, so that we can never forget." She glanced at him askew, just once, and he saw her determination. "Joshua Meiss was in the Government Department. He'll edit everything to be politically correct. An accurate account of what happened won't survive except through these photographs. People forget, and books are corrupted, but pictures can never lie."  
  
You really are an enigma, Johanna Moonen. I wish we had more people like you. Chimfrent nodded silently, and slipped out the door as unobtrusively as he could.  
  
***  
  
Right. Sad, terrible sob story. Shouldn't attend presentations on the Holocaust before writing something that's not necessarily supposed to be sad and meaningful. Hopefully, however, I made some gauze-thin point. And, on an interesting historical note, I now know that the use of a pink triangle as one of the homosexual symbols comes from identification used by the Nazis during World War II. And Justin is renting Schindler's List on Monday. Mali said it makes her cry, so. Nevermind. You don't care.  
  
Thanks to the reviewers, MK, Kateri, Comicqueen217, and Gkey. 


	3. Day 2

NOTES FROM THE REAL WORLD: I've just noticed that all the scribbles and scraps of paper in the binder for this story seem to be in plastic coversheets. When? How? And why do I have no memory of doing this? Also, I misplaced the binder for two days, couldn't find the disk for a day more, and when I did, wondered why I hadn't finished typing this chapter up before having fun with chapter 6. And I seem to have disturbingly rearranged my organization of this, putting part of assignment 2 into this chapter that was supposed to be last chapter, in addition to miraculously skipping four days, dropping that scene, and then picking it up at the appropriate time in chapters 3 and 6. And I stuck an extra day in somewhere without looking at my notebook of dates and events. And don't ask where the recruitment bit came from. I haven't a clue. It doesn't even fit, and yet the notebook has deemed it essential for the rest of the story. Without consulting me. It isn't even my notebook anymore.  
  
REGARDING THE STORY: I'm currently loving the fact that I created an AU after Day 78. Writing "calm, docile Harry" served to alleviate some of the anger Book 5 caused. In fact. I may post the stupid AU as soon as I get to Day 78, instead of waiting until the entire thing is finished. There's also another AU in existence that I created in case I became fed up with this monstrosity early on, in which I successfully end the story soon after the main bit with the Daily Prophet is done. Maybe I'll post that.. I'm AU-ing an AU? Right. And the reason for Claypool saying he was "Cleighton" is quite entertaining, in light of Reyna's and Nancy's speculations. And Mr. Avocado, as I like to call him, has developed into quite a force of character. I'm glad, now, that I made him an Auror.  
  
***  
  
DAY 2  
  
March 14, 1995  
  
***  
  
Ereck Chimfrent padded barefoot to the cubicle currently housing Michael Claypool. He stopped and stared blearily at the back of Claypool's head, cradling a mug of tea in both hands. Claypool had his face resting on his elbow, apparently attempting to continue sleeping after coming to work at five in the morning. "Sorry to send you out so early, but you must understand, you were really supposed to do this yesterday. This needs to get done before printing today. You would have been sent yesterday afternoon, but with having to rearrange the schedule so that Weiss could take Hoyle's assignment, I never had the chance to send you off."  
  
Claypool lifted his head off the desk and nodded slowly. He searched under the desk for his bag, produced it, and stood up. "What am I," he yawned, "supposed to be doing?" Claypool blinked several times and raised his eyebrows at Chimfrent with the expression of a person who most certainly hopes you know what is going on, because they sure don't.  
  
"You're off to talk to the people who live in the area. Interview them, ask for their accounts of the events, talk to them about the people who were killed, etcetera. You know the drill. Just like when Dalton Hart, that cauldron-maker, passed on. Look through these photographs when you get back and choose a few that go with your article." He tossed a stack of Moonen's work onto the desk. "And you need to get the names of the people who were killed, and tell them to Cameron Wrident. Your Apparation time slot is in five minutes, so you'd better hurry. The next half hour after that is blocked off."  
  
***  
  
Michael Claypool first met a man with a strikingly despondent countenance. His facial features were completely limp, as though he was possessed of no spare energy to manipulate the muscles. The whites of his downcast eyes were tinted off-color from sleepless nightmare and extreme sorrow. "I am Grisshon Tyler. I am. was the brother of Lucien. Since we've received no help from the Ministry, I've been put in charge of dealing with reporters. You are one, aren't you," he stated in a low voice, flat and devoid of emotion. Claypool nodded and tentatively shook the limp hand that was proffered.  
  
Michael flared his nose. "It is good to meet you, Mr. Tyler, although the circumstances are regrettable. I am Michael Cleighton - apologies, Claypool. As you accurately surmised, I am a reporter for the Daily Prophet." Usually calm, composed, and offering an unique and variegated vocabulary during commonplace conversation, Michael felt his poise slipping. The complete emotional apathy of Tyler was unnerving.  
  
Tyler began his narrative suddenly. "Only Alcazar Auvocatho, Molly Weasley, Schwerner Fukuma, and myself were in the area at the time. Along with the usual noise, there was a sound like a great inrushing of air, and several screams. This is not precisely normal for the appearance of the Knight Bus. By the time I reached my doorway, Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Fukuma were already outside. Mr. Auvocatho followed shortly after. Mrs. Weasley, upon seeing the bus, Apparated directly to St. Mungo's to get medical assistance. Mr. Auvocatho, a retired Auror, slipped into his old habits and went directly to the bus. Mr. Fukuma and I both followed. We stepped onto the bus, and when I saw my brother, I. passed out. Mr. Auvocatho knows more about what happened after that than I do. I'll go find him, and you can talk with him." Tyler wandered off.  
  
Claypool checked his broken wristwatch out of habit. He had not been talking to Tyler for very long, and already he had been passed off.  
  
Tyler walked up with a tall, greenish-looking bald man in tow. "Mr. Auvocatho?"  
  
"Right. And what are you?" Mr. Auvocatho gave Michael a look the majority of human beings reserve for particularly stubborn tile scum.  
  
Michael blinked slowly. "Er. I'm Michael Cleigh- Claypool, from the Daily Prophet." Damned abnormal people. Their erratic behavior was putting Claypool off of his usual control as a reporter. "I'm here to interview you about the attack?"  
  
Auvocatho snorted. "You people always want to make a profit off of things like this. I oughtn't even talk to you, but should I refuse to, the Ministry will make a mess of obscuring things when they talk to the public. Even you people are leaned on heavily by the Ministry, no? No such thing as free press anymore. Not after The Farseer got shut down in 1978. Damn government."  
  
Michael stared at the acerbic former Auror, who had therefore also once been a government employee, with slightly widened eyes. "Ah, if you could just walk me through what happened? I'll try to get exactly what you say into the article."  
  
Auvocatho looked dubious at this flimsy reassurance, but regardless began his description of the events on the Knight Bus.  
  
***  
  
"You know our numbers are lacking. We might not be able to handle everything that comes up. Ever since.... Enrollment in our programs has decreased. We can't get the caliber of people we once had to apply for the positions. And a number of experienced officers left after that, retired to be free from stress now that a need for them was no longer perceived." Joseph Canselonse paced in front of his immediate superior in this organization.  
  
Albert Cohen raised an eyebrow, or attempted to. The effect was lost as the skin on his forehead shifte upward an inch and wrinkled. "The recruit more," he said in a deep bass.  
  
"As in... coerce?"  
  
"If need be. We have orders to be ready. I know we've never actively recruited in such a manner, but now that the Ministry and the public recognize that He has returned, we may take whatever action is necessary and be assured that there will be little protest."  
  
"Then we will impose a draft."  
  
***  
  
This was posted July 3, 2003.  
  
Thanks to the reviewers, Comicqueen217, Gkey, and MK. Glad you experienced the empathy I was attempting to portray. The last section of this chapter was intended to mislead you into not being certain if the people talking were Death Eaters or Aurors until the very end, and at that time you were supposed to have developed a notion that something sinister was taking place at the hands of whatever organization it was. Hope it worked.  
  
This was posted later than I expected today because I had an appointment I'd forgotten about. If you find any problems, please alert me to them, but in the meantime blame them on the painkiller I was injected with before the dermatologist removed a mole of sorts. And I've got eczema! The joy. Got lots of nice little samples in tubes to take care of it. 


	4. Day 3: Repetition

NOTES FROM THE REAL WORLD: Er. Yes. This wasn't up on Thursday because I've developed Achilles tendonitis and I can't walk. Which means I couldn't get to the computer to type. I'm sorry if the third and fourth parts are strange, but they were hurriedly written while I cringed from the pain in my ankle. I've been essentially helpless for the last six days, and I haven't had a shower in seven. I've just started the Monthly Blight, too. I feel disgusting, I look disgusting, I'm in pain from both feet and my right knee, and the world can just go die. You know?  
  
Comicqueen217: Thanks for the review. A lone pleasantly dark cloud in the too damn sunny sky. Yes, that works where I live. Rain is a blessing. How long have you been on this site? I've been here three and a half years, and know most of the obscure lingo, but I'm pretty certain I picked up "AU" fairly early on. It means Alternate Universe. Say, I've got a piece that I've written out, but I want to explore what would have happened in the rest of the story if I change what happens at one key moment. Authors do this on occasion. If you don't mind SS/HP slash (I gather not, since this was posted under those two characters), then read Sushi's Civil War and then read the one AU she made off of it. If it's still on the site. If not, then I think there are some relatively well known examples in other sections. You can ask around. And, since I'm incredibly bored and need something to do by hand, would you like me to post the AU I have after Day 78 anyway? It'd be nice, even though it won't make sense.  
  
ORIGINAL NOTE: Right. Not much in the works except that I'd like to express happiness that this is a month along and I haven't yet died or killed any real people (characters aside). I'll thank the reviewers in the epilogue of this monstrosity, and answer any burning questions posed along the way.  
  
I also got a nifty new pair of pants from the clearance cart at Wal-Mart. Got a pocket that would do for a wand holster.  
  
REGARDING THE STORY: The Anglo-Saxon bit(s) and the sushi restaurant are a minor tribute to Sushi and her latest conquest, "The Beast". That woman has got more determination than any person should be allowed to have.  
  
***  
  
DAY 3: Repetition  
  
March 15, 1995  
  
"Those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it." - Pearl S. Buck  
  
***  
  
"Dammit, my chair is missing." Reyna Moody sighed and kicked a plant as she continued down the aisle. When she came to a cubicle from which the occupant as missing, she furtively snatched the chair after making a show of looking around. Chimfrent laughed, pleased with the wit of this new writer under his direction.  
  
"You can have free reign of the archives, and we'll pay any expenses for use of national library materials," Ereck Chimfrent told her, still chuckling.  
  
Reyna dragged her newly procured chair to her cubicle and sat down. "Right. I don't imagine this will be overly pleasant, looking up obituaries and reading accounts of attacks, not to mention the coroner's reports. I'll get at it, then. God daege, Mr. Chimfrent."  
  
"Why are you learning Anglo-Saxon?"  
  
***  
  
Many of the accounts had been disturbing, if gruesomely fascinating. But it was interesting only in the way that car wrecks are interesting to passing drivers, and she often wondered how a fragile human being could survive the tortures many of these people were put through, even if they didn't live long afterward.  
  
Her horrified fascination was interrupted by Franz DeBus, Cameron, and Lisanne. They asked if she'd like to go to lunch at a new sushi restaurant near Hogsmeade. Reyna didn't currently feel as thought she could stomach anything, and declined, sincerely wishing the fiercely anxious Lisanne good luck on her assignment that afternoon. She took her lunch break in the staff lounge, sipping cold Earl Grey and sifting through further accounts.  
  
There were dozens of files yet to go through, and yet Reyna felt as though she would happily burn them rather than live through another in third person. Many of the trials people had been put through ere unspeakable, so cruel and calculated and inhuman that Reyna could scarcely wish them on the torturers themselves.  
  
***  
  
Lisanne Holstein had been informed that, a decade and a half ago, this particular area had been rife with Death Eater activity. The frightened villagers had suffered many cruel attacks, and near the end of He-Who-Must- Not-Be-Named's first reign, the village had been almost completely deserted. Over the last fifteen years, people had slowly moved back and picked up their lives once more, and went about their daily business without the fear that this place had once held. There were still remnants of that time, though, reminders to the citizens to never become complacent, to ward their houses well, to watch the children. Several houses existed in ruins on the edge of the village, a statue in the main square was missing limbs and crumbling, an entire side of the city hall building had been corroded by some acidic potion early on in the war.  
  
These reminders were of a painful time. And, in truth to the common saying, that time was beginning again. There were no children out on the streets today, although evidence of their recent roaming still remained outside on lawns and sidewalks. Those people who dared to visit the few stores that were open walked briskly, cautiously, keeping their wands in hand for defense, if the need should arise.  
  
Lisanne had tried to talk to some of the residents. She had rung the doorbells of many houses, but no one ever opened the door. Lisanne wandered in the warm afternoon sun, attempting to talk to the few people out on the streets. She received only a brush off as the people anxiously continued home.  
  
As it neared dusk and the sun began to become larger, sinking low in the sky, Lisanne heard, very faintly, several pops as of Apparation. Her head pivoted toward the direction they had come from, a nearby clearing. Lisanne started toward it, wondering who would be Apparating outside of the village rather than in it. Remembering the caution of the villagers, she slowed her pace, and approached the clearing more prudently, taking care to keep her footfalls light. She sank to her knees and crawled the last several meters to the clearing. As she got closer, the current conversation of the clearing's occupants resolved itself to her ears.  
  
A high-pitched male voice. "Because of Monday, they've all become far more cautious. It won't be as easy as if we'd done this then, on the thirteenth."  
  
Another male voice, lower in pitch. "Yes, but they don't know anything for sure yet. This is nothing compared to the way it used to be, and these expeditions still weren't too challenging then. They won't quite be expecting it yet. So we'll attack on the nineteenth."  
  
A female voice, this time. "The nineteenth? That's almost a week after the first attack. Isn't that a bit long to wait?"  
  
Low pitch. "No, they'll have begun to let their guard down by then. This early on, that gap in time will lure them into a false sense of security."  
  
It slowly dawned on Lisanne that these people were planning an attack on the village. She was eavesdropping on a group of three, maybe more, Death Eaters. She had to get out of there. But not, however, before she knew some of what they were planning, so that the village would have fair warning. As soon as she did, she would Apparate immediately.  
  
Lisanne carefully crept forward on her knees as she listened with wide eyes to the Death Eaters' conversation. After a few minutes of her careful notation, the voices began to drift away as the speakers moved to a different part of the clearing. Not wanting to lose the conversation, as she didn't feel she had enough information yet, Lisanne moved forward until there was only a thin layer of brush between herself and the clearing. She paused to confirm that she could hear the conversation, begrudging the fact that she had been unable to note part of it. As she settled back into place, Lisanne accidentally put too much weight on a dry bit of twig under her knee. It snapped. The sound resonated loudly in the relative silence of the clearing. Lisanne froze, fearful. After a few seconds of tense silence, there was a sound of crunching gravel as the Death Eaters rushed to apprehend whoever had made the noise. Lisanne attempted to Apparate, but found the attempt blocked as she was immediately bounced back painfully. Too late, she tried to back out. Hearing footsteps beyond her local wall of underbrush, and being only a few feet back from the edge of the clearing, she figured everything was shot now. No longer caring about the noise it would make, she chucked her notepad as far as she could behind her. Even if she didn't survive, hopefully some record of this would. If anyone ever found it.  
  
The leading Death Eater blasted aside the bushes with a curse of unnecessary strength. One of his three present subordinates, who turned out to be the female, roughly grabbed Lisanne and dragged her out into the clearing. The leading Death Eater said to the woman in a low voice, "Doris. Go look for any others." Doris nodded and jogged off. He kicked Lisanne and searched her pockets rapidly. He found her wallet, and divulged her work ID with a flourish. "Well, a little reporter sent to spy on us?" Lisanne winced again as he kicked her in the ribs. "Well, then, I suppose you'll have to be an example for these two newer comrades of mine, eh? How do you like that?"  
  
***  
  
Ereck Chimfrent sent out another worried page across the PA system, asking if anyone had heard from Lisanne Holstein. It was ten at night, and she still hadn't reported back from her assignment. She was supposed to be back by six, at the latest. Hoping fervently that she was alright and had just been detained gathering information, but fearing the worst in keeping with previous occasions, he gave notice to the Ministry's missing persons bureau to be on watch for Lisanne Holstein, 73502.  
  
***  
  
This was posted July 13, 2003.  
  
Thanks to the reviewer, Comicqueen217. 


End file.
